The Castle
by Candaru
Summary: Oneshot; possibly to be expanded into a collection. Based on mine and Dawndragon's UMF [Ultimate Mystery Family] AU, shortly after the Castle move. No further explanation since I'm only writing this for her and myself. (Chapter Two: Layton's POV. A visitor drops in with a rather unusual package.)
1. Chapter 1

(A/N: This story [and possibly future stories] is/are for Dawndragon. If you dare try to read without context, I promise you will be confused beyond your wildest dreams... but I still won't stop you.)

* * *

The castle, though it gave a candlelight glow in the nighttime, had all the air of the house that preceded it, with just a touch more darkness and intrigue (as far as the kids were concerned, particularly Alfendi, who was enthralled with murder mysteries).

Oh, let it be clarified that the castle was a step up only in the eyes of the children. The day Professor Hershel Layton received the news, he was more outraged than he could remember ever having been in his life.

 _"Desmond,"_ he'd growled angrily, and an angry growl was the last thing you'd expect to hear out of such a mild-mannered, well-respected gentleman. Indeed only his brother could drag it out of him. "I said _no_ to the castle!" (This, mind you, was the tail end of an argument that had been dragged out for quite some time— partially over the phone and partially up close and in person, where the two men could scowl at each other properly.)

"Well according to these documents, dear brother of mine, _you—_ that is, the famous Hershel Layton— actually said _yes_. And as the deed is now in your name, I would be highly disappointed if you were not to use this Christmas gift that I've so generously bestowed upon you." The shorter figure had tossed his stuffing-lined cape behind him dramatically, making a great show out of it. (Everyone knew that making a show was his true intention behind the gift, anyhow.)

And that was perhaps the one moment in the good Professor's life when he hadn't been able to think of a suitable response. For he knew as well as his brother that his birth name— Theodore Bronev, as he'd been informed so late in his life— would bring up issues with several other important legal documents if he brought it to light.

And then the kids had come running down, chanting "Castle! Castle! Castle!" until the Professor ordered them to stop, and they' done so, but hadn't lost the twinkle in their eyes that finally forced their caretaker's hand. For Uncle Descolé had the unfortunate favor of being a favorite with the kids (particularly Alfendi, who was enthralled with criminals such as Descolé himself).

But all that aside— and it really isn't of much importance, as the dear old uncle who'd bought the house only dropped in every few blue moons to bring strange presents or stir up a riot— the castle was home now, and even the Professor had to admit that it was much more spacious than their previous household.

"You must admit, it's really quite amazing they sell these for no more than the cost of what we were already paying," Claire spoke up across the table. Layton looked up at his love as she smiled knowingly and slid a red card across the table to him. What she'd _really_ said was "you know your brother was only trying to be nice, in his own way," but Layton pretended not to know that.

"Yes, but with the time will take to clean, we'll still have to watch our budget to make sure we don't fall behind," he stated in his matter-of-factly voice.

"How do you think we got here in the first place?" an out-of-place, jarring American voice interjected. A man with jet-black hair, spiked back in a ridiculous fashion, slid his face-down cards to Claire as the Professor's cards were refilled. "Money's always tight."

"Hah! If it weren't, I'd be afraid I was stuck in a simulation of some kind. You know our luck, Nick." The fourth adult at the table— another American, but very clearly a woman— rolled her eyes that always seemed to shift from brown to grey. The Professor hadn't failed to notice that of the eclectic little group, _nobody_ had an eye color besides black or grey (a slightly bothersome and yet intriguing statistical improbability).

"I'll bet four," Claire suddenly said, switching the topic to the pennies on the table in the bat of an eye. There was a steadiness and determination in her voice that commanded all those around her, even when it _wasn't_ her turn to be the dealer. Layton thought her voice was one of the loveliest things about her— right up with her gifted intellectual genius, mild-mannered personality, soft brown hair…

"Ah, I'll check the bet," he replied, realizing that the others were waiting on his response.

"Same here," stated the American male, voice suddenly void of all emotion that had previously made it stand out so much. Years ago, nobody in their right mind would have imagined the Professor _gambling—_ even if only for fun and with pennies— but the eccentric Mr. Wright had changed that. Bumbling rookie as he was, he was a sweetheart who had won more of the Layton's than he cared to admit. So when he'd challenged him to a friendly game of poker the first time, he could hardly deny him. Then the lawyer had gone and shocked him with an apparent hidden talent for the game, and Layton's curiosity and eye for strategy had got the better of him.

"Well, I can't miss out on the fun, now can I?" asked the gray-brown-eyed woman, sliding four pennies easily into the little pile that had formed in the middle of the wooden table that was so glaringly out of place against the stone walls. In fact, the woman's tasteful mix of browns and grays almost seemed to be the only thing holding the room together. Mia Fey was an interesting woman to say the least, and seemed to have a gift for bringing things together that you'd never think someone could. Perhaps the entire housing situation— well, not the castle, which as stated before was Desmond's doing, but certainly the decision for two large parties of people to live together— could be attributed to her social skills and ability to manage a tight budget.

The group's attention was brought to Claire as she flipped her cards over, revealing nothing of more value than pair of twos.

"Guess you all called my bluff," she said with the tiniest bit of an ashamed smile. "Hershel, what did I do this time?"

"A true gentleman never reveals his secrets," he replied, holding back laughter. He loved Claire with all his heart, but _she_ taught him never to help his opponent mid-game. (Well, unless it was a puzzle duel; then he was basically guaranteed to win, so it wouldn't hurt to even the odds in the favor of his opposition.)

The Professor was interrupted from revealing his own hand the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, followed by a slim figure with blonde hair and traditional clothing that seemed far more Japanese than American.

"Melina," Layton asked in surprise, "what are you doing here so late?"

The girl bowed her head in apology. "Maya couldn't sleep," she replied, gesturing down to her own body. "She thought perhaps if she channeled me for a time, when I left, her spirit would remain unconscious."

Layton looked uncomfortably across the table to Mia, as if to ask if that was a normal (or healthy) practice for spirit channelers. He still hadn't quite gotten used to the whole dead-people-possessing-his-friends thing, and he truthfully wasn't sure he ever would.

"Well, it's good to see you," Mia told the girl in a warm voice. "You may join us for a round of cards, if you'd like. But if you can, would you please reprimand my sister before you leave? I don't want her to grow accustomed to channeling while she's tired. Not that _you_ would ever take control without her permission, but…"

"Of course," Melina said, bowing her head. Claire moved aside to make a space for her on the little padded bench that sat against the wall, and the young girl thankfully sat down beside her.

"Now, if we're all ready to continue…" Layton said casually, flipping over his hand. He smiled as the delayed shocked reactions started to show up at his flush, which he'd used every ounce of his willpower not to up the ante on for fear of the others dropping out.

"Wh—"

"A _flush?!"_

"Wow, is that good?"

The adults hushed as they turned to look at Melina, who looked innocently down at the incredibly hand. The Professor and Mr. Wright started to laugh at the same time, one with a deep chuckle and the other with a schoolboy's giggle.

"I see we may have to teach our new player how to, well, play," Layton said.

"Fine, but first allow me to just take all this—" Mr. Wright started, reaching for the pile of pennies. Ms. Fey laughed and slapped his hand back, which Claire pretended to disapprove of but held back a smile at.

"Oh, sorry, forgot I have to show my hand first," he apologized with a grin that Layton realized was sincere just a little too late. As he flipped over a _royal flush,_ the archeologist caught himself wondering for the hundredth time if it was even possible to win as often as Mr. Wright did without cheating. Perhaps he should bring down Alfendi and have him monitor if he was displaying any nervous ticks…

"No using the kids, you two," Ms. Fey suddenly stated out loud, seemingly directed at both Layton and Mr. Wright. Both men looked at each other, startled, then quickly looked away. The tall woman laughed, slapping down her own hand (a junkyard) face-up before collecting the cards on the table into a neat stack.

"Oh dear," Layton stated, noting the time on a clock that hung solitarily on an otherwise blank stone wall. "It's gotten rather late. Shall we teach Melissa a few hands and then join our children upstairs?" he asked cheerfully.

The others stared.

Layton tilted his head towards Claire in confusion. "What? Is the clock wrong?"

Ms. Fey spoke up before the smaller woman could. "You said _our_ children," she exclaimed with a smirk.

"Wh— no I did not," Layton insisted, thinking back to a few moments before.

"I think you did, Hershel," Claire agreed, holding a hand up to her mouth in a failed attempt to hide the light blush on her cheeks.

"Pro- _fessor_!" Mr. Wright accused in mocking tone, his voice more schoolboy-ish than before.

"All right, that's enough," Layton defended feebly. Ms. Fey and he were about on the same level as far as wit was concerned, but Mr. Wright mocking him was an insult to his dignity. (Well, that was an exaggeration, but— but still.)

"Mr. Layton, are you blushing?" asked Melina suddenly. "Oh— s-sorry, I didn't mean to speak out of turn," she quickly added, as Layton shot her a glare that was usually reserved for when people mistreated a lady in his presence.

If the group had been residing in the old house, the laughter and mocking tones would have undoubtedly drawn down the previously-sleeping children from upstairs— that was simply the way it was. Perhaps the extra space that now separated the adults from the children was actually an advantage, in some ways. Not that the Professor would ever admit that to his brother, of course.

In the still of the night, the castle glowed with a warm candlelight that spoke of children sleeping soundly while their parents played poker with worn red cards and pennies.


	2. Chapter 2

(A/N: Pssst Dawn guess who had time to write a whole new chapter today)

* * *

The kitchen, thanks to Flora's attempts at cooking breakfast, was on fire. Pearl had tried her best to mitigate the damage, but now she and Emmy both ran about with plastic bowls of water, attempting desperately to save the admittedly cheap equipment that filled only a portion of the huge room that was designated "the kitchen."

On the large landing with the brown couch and old, channel-less American TV, Maya and Katrielle were re-watching their favorite movie for the hundredth time while munching on snacks they'd pilfered before Flora had a chance to enter the kitchen scene.

Upstairs in Athena and Trucy's room, Apollo had gotten roped into helping the girls with their latest magic show (read: Trucy's latest magic show, with which Athena was assisting). The poor boy (though he was really a young man, anyone who wasn't currently working was considered one of the children) had only been pleading for their assistance in moving Maya and Katrielle away from his bed— which was the brown couch in the landing— so he could go back to sleep. But alas, if he'd truly thought the outcome of that would be anything other than being sawed in half while Athena chanted some magic words, he deserved his fate (or so said Mr. Wright).

And in the still-half-unpacked main room by the door, Luke was trying his best to frantically tackle a tiny Alfendi (who was attempting to make a run for the kitchen) to the ground. In other words, it was a completely normal day at the Castle.

"No! We don't… play with… fire!" Luke grunted, as the toddler— well, nobody knew exactly how old he was, he could have been three or four from his comprehension skills— tried to squirm out of his grip.

"Arson, arson!" Alfendi shrieked, his normally red hair shagged wildly to display its purple undertones. He attempted a swing at Luke's jaw, but Luke was ready and deflected the tiny fist. Alfendi shrieked in anger and retaliated by hitting his neck.

"Ow!" Luke exclaimed, grabbing the boy's wrists and pinning him to the floor. The boy squirmed for a few seconds more, then suddenly grew rigid before closing his eyes and relaxing his body, accepting his fate peacefully.

"Monster child…" Luke muttered under his breath as the Professor passed him by. Layton gave him a disapproving glance, but when Luke didn't notice he decided to let the matter go. He would normally _never_ accept such strong language from his apprentice, but Alfendi was an extremely trying complication on an already-tense situation. As well as Luke handled everything else— accepting his temporary move with the Professor cheerfully, making friends with all of his new siblings at the drop of a hat, and shouting with glee over the possibility of living in a castle— the truth was that he was mature enough to know what was really going on. He never complained about the rations of cheap food or the chaos that was bound to occur with fourteen people living in the same house.

So when the apprentice occasionally lost his temper at the child who drew pentagrams on the wall when he threw a fit, Layton couldn't really hold it against him.

Suddenly, the tiny ball of rage— which was now lying calmly on the floor— opened his eyes and said in the calmest voice imaginable, "Sorry." It wasn't used in a mocking tone, but it was far too placid for what had just occurred.

"Go help Flora and the others put out the fire," Luke commanded through gritted teeth, and the child obeyed (although they were already almost done).

"Thank you for helping with him," the Professor said quietly after Alfendi had left the room. The blue-clad boy spun around, not having noticed him enter during his brawl.

"O-of course," he replied, his spirits seeming a little lifted by the praise. "Somebody has to keep him under control."

"Mm," Layton said, nodding gravely. "If my brother ever brings another mystery child to our household—"

 _Ding dong!_

Layton and Luke looked at each other for a moment, then laughed at the irony of the timing.

The laughter subsided when they opened the door to find a caped figure with a mask and a bag slung around his back.

"Uncle Descolé!" Luke exclaimed in surprise, looking over guiltily at the Professor. When the ex-villain had first started showing up, Luke didn't trust him as far as he could throw him, and he'd spent every visit locked away in his room or trying to spy on him to "gather intel" on what he was really up to. Layton secretly missed those days, and he also secretly had a feeling that it wasn't really so secret to Luke.

"Well, well, well," Desmond stated dramatically, pulling the rather large, long sack from his back and laying it down on the couch gently. If he'd heard any ticking, Layton wouldn't have doubted it might have been a fragile bomb. "I see you're all doing well in my castle."

"It's technically ours now," Layton stated with some annoyance.

"It's technically mine," Desmond shot back, stretching his arms and rubbing his shoulders. "But enough about the legal work. I've brought you another package to take care of for me."

This, Professor Layton was actually glad to hear. He sometimes held onto rare artifacts for his brother, and had even brought them to lectures when he had a class to teach, as he did tonight.

"It seems quieter than normal," the package-bearer noted, ignoring the hissing of water on flames in the next room over and Apollo's distinct scream of terror that rang out from all the way upstairs. "Is somebody missing?"

"Mr. Wright is currently working on the case that brought him here—" Layton started, exchanging a glance with Luke— "and Ms. Fey is working for another client who may be related to the case. We're not sure yet."

"You should give the details to Alfendi," Desmond stated nonchalantly. "He's quite good at solving cases." Layton ignored him.

"In addition, I have a lecture tonight and Claire is still asleep from her research _last_ night. So if you could give any special instructions for your package quickly…"

"Ah, I see," Desmond agreed surprisingly easily. "Well, It needs a daily allowance of sun and water—"

 _He brought a plant?_ Layton couldn't help wondering.

"—and it's not very compatible with modern technology, though it does have several special skills of its own. It's very quiet and well-behaved, and follows instructions remarkably well, although it's curious about the world around it. Now then, I'll be off!"

"Wait, what?!" Layton exclaimed, already running over to the package (which he now noted looked like an awful lot like a cradleboard) and opening it up. A perfectly motionless girl slowly turned her head towards him.

"Hello," she said with a smile. He jumped back, startled, and Luke gave a yelp of surprise.

"Toodle-oo!" said Desmond, closing the door.

"Wait, you can't just—" Layton started, but he knew if he tried to follow he'd already be gone. He pushed down a huff of frustration. Then he realized the girl was still in the bag (goodness, his brother hadn't _kidnapped_ a child, had he?) and came back over to help her out.

"Er, are you okay?" he asked the girl.

"Yes," she replied, seeming completely unperturbed by the situation. "Father told me you would take care of me."

Layton and Luke looked at each other in shock. Father? Even Alfendi had simply referred to Desmond as "Descolé" when he first arrived. And Layton knew his brother's wife had died years ago.

"Oh," the girl added, a slight smile forming on her face, "and he also told me I should call him Father, and that it would surprise you greatly. Did I do that right?"

Layton suppressed yet another frustrated growl and instead nodded calmly. "Yes, we were quite surprised. Now, would you mind telling us your name?"

"My name is Aurora," the girl replied, and it suddenly struck the Professor that she had no pupils.

"I see. What a pretty name. Pardon my asking, Aurora, but are you blind?"

Aurora tilted her head. "I do not know what that word means."

The Professor paused. "Can you see what is on my head?"

"Yes, it is a very strange hat," Aurora replied, reaching out to touch it. Layton let her stroke the fabric curiously.

"Then I suppose you aren't blind," he said, glancing at Luke as if he would know something the Professor didn't.

"Should— should I go wake Claire?" Luke asked in a worried tone.

"I'm already up," a voice came from behind the two. A sleepy Claire walked in, rubbing her eyes. "Apollo's 'chords of steel' woke me."

"Ah. Well, we had an unexpected guest," Layton explained, motioning to Aurora.

"This young lady? Oh, hello, there!" Claire gave a tired, but genuine, smile. "How pretty you are, dear. Why did you come here?"

"Father brought me," Aurora explained, expression unwavering. Claire's expression shifted as she put the puzzle pieces together.

"Did your brother…?"

"He's not really her father, but yes," Layton confirmed.

"Mr. Layton," called a shy voice coming out of the kitchen, "what's going on?"

Layton sighed as he turned around to face Pearl, who had a light burnt patch on her clothing but seemed otherwise unharmed.

"Pearl, go get your sister and Emmy. Actually, if you could round up all the children, please," he asked. (Pearl didn't actually have a sister, but Flora and her had grown fast friends and referred to each other as such.) The petite girl nodded and quickly headed back to get her friends, stealing a glance at the newcomer as she left.

"She seems like a polite young lady…" Claire stated, aware that she was within earshot of Aurora but making the remark to Layton. He knew from her worried tone exactly what she was implying. Aurora did, in fact, seem to be as polite, mild-mannered, and well-behaved as Desmond had promised. Unfortunately, so had Alfendi when he first arrived, and Layton's brother had completely neglected to mention _his_ psychotic other personality.

"Well, I think I can show her the ropes. Maybe she can help us clean this huge place," Luke suddenly offered, his brave voice wavering a little. Layton felt a small pang in his heart knowing how hard his apprentice was working to make things work out.

"I'd appreciate that," he stated, his only display of emotion a clasp on the boy's shoulder. "We'll need all the help we can get. After all…" He smiled feebly as he witnessed a horde of children coming in from various ends of the house, all growing quiet as they noticed the strange new girl standing in the middle of the room with her blank blue eyes and peculiar attire.

"…I think our little group just went up to fifteen."


End file.
